Life was good to Pontius Pilate, and he knew that he should be grateful for this lot the Fates had given him, though even at this late hour, before marrying the woman he had grown to love, he still missed the rugged and harsh life of the legions. As servants scrubbed his relaxing body in the hot bathwater, he reminisced about directing the hell storm of scorpion bolts and flaming missiles from the onager catapults during the assault on the Angrivari stronghold ten years before. His body wasn’t as firm as it used to be, and the years of soft living had added a little to his girth. But never had he felt more alive, before or since!
Artorius hated the administrative side of being a Centurion, but it was something he knew was necessary. Rufio and Praxus were both in his office when he opened the door, which puzzled him. The Signifier held a bundle of scrolls which he brought to Artorius’ attention.
“What are these?” the Centurion asked, taking a seat at his desk.
“Discharge orders,” Rufio answered.
“Eleven of them,” Praxus added quickly.
Artorius leaned over his forearms and sighed. “What the hell, did every last one of our veterans enlist at the same time?” he asked with a trace of irritation in his voice.
“We’re losing four more to the First Cohort, as well,” Praxus continued. “And, unfortunately, recruiting has been slim lately.”
“Damn it,” Artorius swore, resting his chin in his hand. “Well, there’s nothing for it. The Century’s never been at full strength anyway, and with no war on the horizon, what’s the loss of two entire squads?” His voice was thick with sarcasm. After all, the four legionaries selected to join the elite First Cohort had made it on their own merits, and he was happy for them. The eleven who were set to retire had more than done their share of service to the Empire.
“It gets better,” Praxus said after a short pause. Artorius looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. The Optio then nodded towards Rufio. “We’ve been going through the roster of the Century like you said…well, you kind of hit the proverbial nail on the head when asking if all our veterans enlisted at the same time. It seems a lot of them did.”
“Within the next eighteen months another dozen of our men will be at the end of their required service,” Rufio observed. “We’ve spoken to them and asked if any were interested in re-enlisting. Three agreed, and we have their new contracts already drawn up. The rest wish to go home.”
“Hmm, I thought the legion was home to these men,” Artorius muttered. He then realized that his two senior officers were still standing. “Oh for gods’ sake, sit down! You both hovering over me like that makes me as nervous a Vestal Virgin in a brothel!”
Rufio and Praxus grinned as they sat across from their commander.
“A lot of these men came from Hispania,” Rufio explained. “There was a massive recruiting drive back when Tiberius was campaigning in Pannonia.”
“Then it looks like we will have to start our own soon, or we’ll be the only ones left!” The Centurion’s remark got a laugh out of the three men. Artorius then let out a sigh and sat back. “Eh fuck it, I need a drink. How about you two?” He snapped his fingers and his servant Nathaniel entered the room.
“You need a drink, master?” the slave asked, his hands folded in front of him.
“Yes. Return home and tell my lady I need a jug of our finest vintage. Oh, and tell her I may not be home tonight until late. Pressing business.” The slave bowed as Praxus snorted.
“Pressing business requiring your best vintage,” he retorted. “That will go over well with Lady Diana!”
“Actually she is more than willing to indulge me on occasion,” Artorius remarked with a grin. “I rarely drink anymore, but when I do I think she’d prefer I did it around you rather than her.”
Praxus did his best to contain his laughter. “After the little incident at your prenuptial feast, I don’t blame her!”
“Nathaniel!” Diana snapped, causing the slave to almost drop the jug. She stood on the stairs leading into the wine cellar, leaning on the hand rail. “What are you doing down here at this hour?”
“M…my apologies, my lady,” the slave stammered, lowering his head respectfully. Though Diana was always very kind to him, her strong demeanor unnerved him. He then held up the jug. “It’s just…the master…” Diana’s laughter caught him off guard, and he hung his head once more.
“Pressing business again, is it?” she laughed.
Nathaniel nodded his head sheepishly.
“Well, off with you then…and do be careful!”
The poor slave tripped on the stairs and nearly sent the jug crashing. Diana shook her head and walked into the cellar. In her hand she held a letter from her sister. She had hoped to see her husband come home at a reasonable hour this evening, for the news from her sister was of much importance to both of them.
As she walked past the wine racks, running her fingers over the various jugs and bottles, she thought about Claudia’s letter, and their pending trip to Rome. She was very much looking forward to seeing her sister, as well as the rest of her family. She had not seen her father in over a decade, not since the passing of her poor mother. He had since married a young woman who Diana vaguely remembered from her youth as being equally beautiful as she was devoid of brains or personality.
There was another reason why she was anxious to leave Cologne; at least for a short time. It stemmed from Artorius’ long nights at the Century as of late. He tried to keep the stresses of his profession from her, though she appreciated that, if asked directly he would always answer her truthfully. It was that open honesty they shared that kept the bonds of trust between them strong. She knew the pressure that was being placed upon him lately, which was made worse by the loss of…what was it? She thought he had said he was losing almost a third of his men to retirement, yet he still had the same duties and requirements as before, with no prospective recruits to fill the vacancies. Her husband needed a furlough, and a trip to Rome would be just what was needed.
The hours passed, and it was well after midnight. Neither Artorius nor Nathaniel had returned. Diana let out a sigh and carefully lit a lamp that she kept next to their bed for nights such as this. Her maidservant came to her with her cloak as Proximo held the door open for her.
“Thank you, Proximo,” Diana said as she lit the lamp and walked out into the night. “I may not be back this evening.”
Proximo simply bowed in understanding.
It was but a mile from her manor house to the gates of the fortress. The moon was almost full, and bright, negating her need for the lamp. Her reason for keeping it was to clearly identify her face to passersby, particularly guardsmen or patrolling legionaries. She saw one such patrol of six men marching in step down the street.
“Ma’am,” the Decanus said with a courteous nod as she passed. Though she could not see the soldier’s face nor recognize his voice, she was certain he knew who she was. Everyone in Cologne knew Lady Diana Procula. It was a bit unnerving having almost no sense of anonymity whatsoever. Yet it also made her feel safe knowing that more than ten thousand legionaries stood ready to protect her from any harm that villainous types would wish upon her.
The fortress was an imposing sight in the light of the moon. It was huge, seeing as how it housed two entire legions. While the city of Cologne flourished in its wake, the fortress was a city in itself. The round towers on either side of the gate each housed a pair of Scorpion ballistae and she could see the silhouettes of legionaries slowly pacing the ramparts. Ironically, the intimidation of the fortress was more for appearance sake than actual defensibility. Though there was no doubt that it could repel even the most determined assaults, the Roman army was an offensive force. Were a threat to emerge, the legions would spill forth like a stirred up hornets’ nest and attack the threat head-on, rather than hiding behind the fortress walls. Tall torches were stuck in the ground leading up to the gate, where a pair of legionaries stood.